


Your eyes close as I fall asleep

by inthisdive



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7204829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inthisdive/pseuds/inthisdive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'There’s no time in the morning to sit down and take things slow, there are too many things to do, too many snooze alarms that Zoey hit too many times.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your eyes close as I fall asleep

*

 

When Charlie reaches out in the middle of the night and shifts restlessly, Zoey moves seamlessly into his arms; it’s then that his eyes can flutter once and fall shut, gentle and still. With Zoey close enough to touch, he can sleep. 

* 

“Your hair smells like apples,” he points out in the morning, as they eat their breakfast around, rather than at, the kitchen table. There’s no time in the morning to sit down and take things slow, there are too many things to do, too many snooze alarms that Zoey hit too many times.

“New conditioner,” Zoey replies, leaning over the bacon and eggs to straighten Charlie’s tie. 

“Where’d you get it,” he asks, dutifully holding still, “The local orchard?” 

Zoey smacks Charlie’s chest and steals the slice of toast out of his hand. “Very funny.”

“I’m not the one smelling like fruit,” Charlie counters, and he presses a kiss to Zoey’s cheek, then moves to her side, takes a bite from the slice of toast, chews (one two three), swallows, then kisses her other cheek. “Gotta go.”

“You _are_ a fruit,” Zoey mutters, waving him away, her smile bright and familiar, affectionate.

“You keep on keeping that doctor away!” Charlie calls, and lets himself out of the house, keys jangling merrily in his hand.

*

When Zoey stretches, half-caught between awake and dreaming, she feels the reassuring firmness of Charlie’s bare chest against her back, his hand draped over her waist. His hands are large, bigger than hers; she runs delicate fingers over the raise and fall of knuckles and bone; dips and valleys of Charlie’s geography.

*

“Surprise,” drawls the familiar voice, and Charlie, busy and preoccupied, doesn’t process the surprise until after he turns, nods, and smiles.

“Hey.” A pause. “Zoey?”

Lunchtime in the West Wing was no quieter, no lazier, no slower than the rest of the day. Charlie often forgets to stop, slow down, rest. Eat. All that changes when Zoey arrives, cheerful, armed with her visitor’s pass and a fresh, still hot enough to smell good hot dog. 

“You can spare twenty minutes, right?” she asks, and the next thing Charlie knows she’s moved from the still-ajar door to sitting atop his desk, legs crossed at the ankles and swinging back and forth easily, innocent. Her skirt falls just at her knees and that catches Charlie’s eye for a moment. 

“If you can spare twenty seconds for my legs,” Zoey continues, blithe, “You can spare twenty minutes for lunch. Work will be fine without you.” 

“Maybe just for twenty minutes,” he allows, and gets up from his desk chair to join her atop the desk. She kisses his nose and he takes the hot dog. He bites into it, and adds, “Mostly for the legs.”

*

Later, CJ walks in with her arms full of file folders and frazzled. Charlie gulps down the last of his hot dog – almost – and says, a little muffled by food, “Hey, CJ.” 

“Hey,” she replies, scanning the desk for a file folder shaped space. “You ever heard of a chair?” 

“Nope,” Charlie replies, easily. “Nor have I ever heard of the word ‘inconvenience.’”

No space found, CJ deposits her stack of files directly into Zoey’s lap. “You’re a regular Carrot Top. Zoey, Daddy doesn’t work here any more.” 

“Sure he does,” Zoey replies brightly, unfazed. “Charlie asks me who my daddy is all the time – you know, when he’s worked up – and the answer is always ‘you are, Charlie.’” 

Charlie drops his head into his hands and groans. 

“Come by anytime,” CJ tells Zoey with a wink, turning to leave the room. “See you later, Charlie.” 

“Not a word!” he calls after CJ. 

“Never,” CJ says, and after she leaves the room, calls out, “Who’s your daddy?” 

Zoey laughs, and says, “How do you like _them_ apples?” Charlie groans, again, and promptly pushes her off the desk.

*

Zoey’s lips on Charlie’s neck is, he thinks, exactly the right mix of hot and wet; the briefest press of her tongue against his pulse point sends his arms and legs to water. He murmurs her name and she bites down on the hollow of his neck. 

When he accidentally kicks the comforter off the bed, they both laugh. 

*

“Hey, Charlie, hold up,” Donna calls from the down the hall and Charlie, dutiful, pauses in his step and takes a quick sip of coffee while he waits for her to catch up.   
“What’s up?” he asks, and starts walking again when Donna hits his space; they fall into step together. 

“I just have a quick question,” Donna says, her smile friendly and pen poised above her clipboard. 

“Shoot.” 

“Who’s your daddy?” 

Charlie squeezes his coffee cup in surprise; the lid bounces off and across the hall, while Donna laughs and, sparkling with mischief, walks on. 

* 

Long days make coming home seem a far-off and far-flung pleasure: a fabled wonderland treat. When Charlie finishes at the office tonight it’s well past eleven p.m and he’s tired, more tired than he should be, but the important thing is that he’s _done_ ; he’s reached the point where he is happy to lay his work to rest and go home. 

There’s only one light on in the apartment, and Charlie almost doesn’t notice it, the muted strip of illumination spilling under the closed bedroom door. He pushes the door open and the first thing he sees is the bed, invitingly ruffled, and Zoey propped up amongst a sea of pillows, reading a book. 

“Hey, stranger,” she greets him, and the drowsiness in her voice is something endearing. Charlie wanders over to her side, strokes her hair and drops a kiss to the top of her head, letting his hand fall lazily down her bare arm. 

“Hey. Waiting up for me?” 

“Only if you come to bed now,” Zoey replies, pulling on Charlie’s loosened tie, bringing him down for a kiss – a slow kiss, starting chaste until her lower lip slips between his, tongue darting out to taste his. It’s comfortable and loving and exactly, Charlie thinks, like home.

He pulls away and coaxes his tie over his head, solemnly placing it around Zoey’s neck. “I’ll just wash up first.”

She nods, and waggles her fingers in a wave as he turns for the bathroom. 

Charlie knows that she’ll be asleep by the time he crawls into the warm sheets beside her, but that’s okay: she’ll be right there to reach out and touch, falling into his arms like it was meant to be.

By now, he’s really sure that it is.

*


End file.
